


Bindings

by LucianRafaello



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Curious Prince Scopes out Butler's Sweet waistline, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, and i mean it by slow burn i want this to be a nice long dwyer/m!corrin fic, kind of important to express that, post-a support dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucianRafaello/pseuds/LucianRafaello
Summary: Not many people would care to notice how nicely the corset of his uniform fit him.Corrin, however, paid plenty of mind.





	1. Loosening

Not many people would care to notice how nicely the corset of his uniform fit him. No surprise there: the way he slouched over seemed to overshadow his figure quite effectively, much to the disdain of his admirer. If he just stood straight, and walked with his head held higher instead of ambling languidly along during his service hours, maybe his form would--

“I brought you some coffee.” Dwyer’s voice - not his typical voice, however, but one he had tailored with a _little_ more pep just for his liege - roused Corrin gently out of his thoughts as the dour man sauntered through the doorway toting a tray of morning delights, “You seem more fatigued as of late, so I let it brew a little stronger. The beverage I’ve prepared exclusively for you will bring you back from the brink of death itself, all without offending your palate.”

After setting down the carafe and arranging the sugar bowl and cream neatly beside a half-filled mug, a hopeful smile flashed and asked of his lord for approval. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t sneak peeks at the gentle curve of his butler’s waistline if what he’d get to see instead was that soft, simpering expression.

It was charming enough to lure that slugabed up from the confines of silken sheets and will himself to the table. A herculean task very few have achieved without force.

Dwyer’s way of waking Corrin up was his favorite. He was more independent; for example, he wasn’t being forced into his clothes the second he set foot out of bed, but allowed a moment to breathe and get his bearings together before the day’s tasks assailed him from all fronts. It only took his new retainer a short while - in actuality, a lengthy series of then-futile attempts to establish equality- to get him to this more docile point, where he’d meekly await for praise rather than claw desperately for it at every turn. The calm was nice, the prince mused, as he fixed his coffee as necessary and brought the carefully warmed rim to his lips.

Meanwhile, the glow in the butler’s eyes were set upon his master as he drank the first mouthful, watching for every little twitch in his countenance that would indicate the fate of the brew.

“Ahh…” 

“W-well…?” Dwyer insisted, leaning in just a smidge more. The sound of leather gloves tightening around his stave’s shaft mingled with the clatter of the cup coming in contact with the wooden table.

“Excellent as always.” Corrin said with a smile, “You know how to bring out the nutty flavor and use just the right spices to ease the bitterness of strong coffee.”

When the carafe was emptied and the final breakfast morsel had long since been devoured, Corrin set himself to the task of suiting up for the day. Made easier with a second set of hands to help fasten the belts and clips - an honest relief - it would only take a short while to garb himself in his signature silver and navy uniform. As Dwyer scoured over the cape to make sure it was in presentable condition, the prince spoke up over his shoulder.

“I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you, but could we meet up and share a pot of tea later today?”

_He wanted to **spend time together** later?_

“I know you like to spend your free time alone and preferably asleep,” Corrin continued, “but if it isn’t much of a bother, I’d be grateful.”

“Is that an order, Lord Corrin?” he reverently whispered whilst raising his eyes just slightly to gaze at the corner of his liege’s, “Because if it is, I simply cannot refuse-”

“No, no, it’s not an order. It’s a request to a friend.” He had to have known this by now, but there was no sense in being less than patient if they had already been for this long.

“A-Ah, well…”

“You don’t have to accept if you aren’t up for it! I promise I won’t be offended.”

“No, I… I think I understand that. Or, I’ll try to, at the very least.” Dwyer managed to unfurrow his brows enough to smooth the creases of his face back into that contented smile. “I’d be happy to.”

Corrin inwardly sighed, finding solace in something resembling a breakthrough at long last.

===

“Forrest, can I ask you something?”

A midday break was rarely on the itinerary, but it so happened that between meetings with the war council and his brothers, the leader of this quixotic army crossed paths with his brother's son, stitching designs into a new vestment that would surely be envied by all.

“What is it, uncle?” Corrin’s petite nephew inquired in kind, resting his needle safely amid the fabric he worked and smoothing a hand over what was completed of an embroidered rose before raising his head and cocking it gently to the side.

“Did you happen to make the clothes that Dwyer wears?” It was his best guess. Forrest was the only person in the army who was accomplished enough to create a corset so skilled at expressing the shape of one’s body; he even wore one himself, and he practically handcrafted entire wardrobes for everyone since his recruitment. For his butler to have at least one garment made by the hands of this fine outfitter wouldn’t be outlandish.

“Oh, goodness, no!” Taken by surprise, the lovely child sprang upright quickly enough that his pink ringlets bounced upon his capelet. “I could only dream of the day he lets me make something for him. I’ve insisted to make him something a little more colorful, but he simply will not allow it. Always on about something having to do with him not suiting what I would make... He and Ignatius make for stubborn models, but I suppose it can’t be helped when what I make is mostly feminine couture.”

Damn. And here he thought he was onto something, but before he could thank the ardent tailor and take his leave, the same sweet voice chimed again.

“Why?”

Oh gods, a dreadful question. Worse, it was an obvious one; one he should have thought up an answer to before asking.

“He... takes good care of them, i-if they look as nice as your handiwork, that’s all.” Hands down, it was the worst reply he ever thought of for any conversation in recent, or even his entire history. It certainly didn’t fly over his nephew’s radar. In fact, maybe it made him all too suspicious.

“Oh, really?” Forrest spoke with an inflection in his tone that indicated - much to Corrin’s dismay, damn it all - that he knew more than his words let on, “Well, it’s nice to see that you have a newfound interest in quality fashion.”

“Yes, well… Thank you for your time, I really ought to get going-”

“Uncle?” Mid-turn, Corrin froze in place and glanced over at the meaningful smile on the young man’s face, pleading to himself that the bead of sweat trickling down his temple would not be visible to those sharp eyes, so masterful at spotting even the tiniest of details in stitches and expression alike-- “It’s okay, you know. I honestly think it’s wonderful.”

===

Tea time! Ah yes, tea time. The appointed hour in which one would invest themselves to the comfort of peaceful conversation - or solitude - and thoughtfully concocted beverages. The castle residents treated these moments of respite like sanctuaries for the mind, body, and soul. There wasn’t a single entity in the army who did not enjoy taking time out of their hellish day to day grind for tea.

...Yet here was Dwyer, pacing flat lines on the red carpet of Corrin’s private quarters, completely wracked with anxiety over their ordained meeting. When the room began to feel as if it was too hot or didn’t have enough air to breathe, he began to believe that perhaps his corset’s embrace was a bit too tight around his abdomen.

_What was he thinking, agreeing to this?_

Over and over again, he redid the arrangement of snacks and tea on the table. He changed the tablecloth he had so meticulously picked out from a vast selection to another he brought just in case it no longer suited his gut instinct. A good call, of course.

He recalled this morning; how his heart leapt and anxiety fluttered in his stomach. Gods, it was the first time in a long time he crafted a stronger coffee like that for anyone, and all the confidence he had in his superior preparation techniques seemed to wither away the moment the bottom of the mug was visible to his eye.

Then came the memory of honey-sweet accolades that followed and soothed him. Sure, it was one small compliment, but not only was it affirmation he did his job well, it further solidified the fact he was more fit at the art of refreshments than his father. A little nagging feeling that he could have done better may have tugged at his conscience a bit, but if his lord was happy, he was happy, and he was able to swat it away. He would surpass expectations next time, and the time after that he would surpass new expectations. That was what it meant to be a butler.

However, right now, he wasn’t supposed to be performing his function, and he struggled with the idea of sitting idly without singing praises or tending to his liege’s every need. He never made good company, especially not in the social context. The cutting sarcasm tended to scare away those of his age group, and his lackadaisical attitude had him on the receiving end of much criticism from his elders. Friends weren’t something he expected to happen.

So when Corrin wanted a friend, Dwyer wasn’t sure how to do that no matter how much they tried to work on evolving their dynamic. It felt almost like he had to do this - because it was asked of him - but a little scrap of the constant lessons shone through. He felt like he should want to do this, too, and he did best to cling to that.

Failing to restrain himself from adjusting the tea settings one last time, his hands jolted back only when the door cracked open and a charming, smiling prince’s face came into view. Maybe he didn’t expect for him to actually show?

“I had a feeling you’d be early!” His worries were settled. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.”

“Not _too_ long…” Wary eyes glanced to the teapot. Were its contents cold by now? Should he make another pot? No chance of that now, as his liege took a seat at the arrangement and clapped his hands together.

“Come on, sit!” Corrin insisted, rubbing palms together in excitement. “I’m feeling invigorated after today’s proceedings, and I’m ready to relax a little with a cup of your tea and a chat.”

Right. _Riiight_. He was supposed to be involved in this relaxation. Yet, even when he took his place across the table, the unease that he didn’t earn this percolated to the surface. To distract himself, Dwyer reached out with both hands for the kettle handle so he could serve, but was stopped when a hand of the prince overlapped his.

“I’ve got this.”

The butler gulped. Oh, gods, what if his father saw this? He would be scolded on the spot for lazing about and having his master serve him in his stead. Caught straddling the fine line between duty and emotions, Dwyer could only stammer out a babble of objective onomatopoeia as the hand that touched his held its position so firmly, and yet so gently wrapped about his fingers. Again, it felt like he was sucking air through a straw. He made an internal note that he wouldn’t wear this damn garment tomorrow, in case there was a second chance of this happening.

“Let me do it this once, and if it really does bother you, we can try it again another time.” Corrin’s smile and tone calmed the trembling steward. “It’s been a long time since we started trying out this new dynamic, but it’s no good if I cross boundaries you’re honestly not ready for. Even still, I have to ask you to try your best.”

“I…” A pause, before his hands relinquished their posture and crossed in his lap, watching with uncertain eyes as his liege took the handle with confidence. “...Okay.”

Tea was served and the deed was done. There was no turning back now; no undoing this. He had to accept it, and set himself to the task of divvying up portions of the snacks between their hors d'oeuvres plates just to keep himself from saying something that might disturb the pleasant environment. Conversation started out light and familiar between bites and sips: about their day, ideas for tomorrow’s schedule. It moved on to more substantial matters like thoughts on cultural differences between Nohr and Hoshido, and how nice it’d be to visit the cities they had not yet been able to… at least, not without the context of a march.

“I’m glad I could get a rest in this afternoon; I worked a lot harder than usual to get my assignments done, but was worth it.” Corrin mumbled before blowing on his second cup to cool it, “It was just what I needed to keep me going until dinner. I almost wasn’t sure I could make it.”

“I hope you didn’t strain yourself too much just to meet up with me for tea...” Dwyer’s eyes couldn’t figure out where to look while he spoke, gaze darting back and forth from his tea to his conversation partner. Everything was so _weird_ when he wasn’t the one holding the trays or presenting the teapot or whatever else needed of him.

“I made sure I didn’t overwork myself, but this meeting is important to me, so I wanted to be sure I could invest plenty of time in it.”

“It’s… important to you?”

“Of course! I hardly get to spend time with you outside of our duties, and I wanted to give back to you somehow for all the effort you put out for me.”

Very rarely did Dwyer’s ever-sleepy eyes open wide. His jaw slacked just slightly, then lips pursed into a thin line. Tentative excitement brewed in his chest; it was nice - and a little scary - to be considered important enough for someone else to work hard for his happiness. It wasn’t the first time he felt this, either: Corrin had once gone to dangerous lengths to acquire rare mint for him, and he remembered how terrified he felt knowing this man put himself in harm’s way for him.

He had barked at his lord back then about how he felt over the treacherous expedition, and how awful he would have felt if things had turned out for the worst in the pursuit of a mutual friendship. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for the present, but it wouldn’t have been worth it if it came at the cost of injury. This was a much better method of tackling the same idea. Corrin must have considered his worry and, even if he didn’t understand too well, adjusted the way he expressed his gratitude by doing something safer.

Then it hit him. _Wasn’t it about time he returned the favor? Was he hurting him by being so deeply rooted in his occupation? It was his turn to listen, and change his behaviour for someone who dearly wanted to be a friend._

“Dwyer.”

“H-huh?” Shaking his head, the butler snapped out of his thoughts to see the prince leaning in with concern washed over his face, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

“You zoned out for a moment.” Corrin said, “Are you okay? Did _you_ work yourself too hard?”

“I’m fine…” He reached a hand to his bicep and nervously stroked the sleeve with a timid smile, “...I guess I’m just happy to hear you say that.”


	2. Lighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter; life's been beating me up these last two months. I'd rather post a short, well-written chapter rather than one that feels forced with horrid pacing.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me!

The next morning had Corrin feeling incredibly off put about something, but it was far from a mystery. It wasn’t the fact that, for two days in a row, Jakob hadn’t attended to his morning routine: it was Dwyer’s state of uniform, expressly the lack of a signature part of it. In place of his fine troubadour corset was a vest exactly like his father’s in both make and color, and though neatly tucked away under his drab mantle and bent posture, it clashed so obnoxiously with everything else about him - attire and personality - that it was impossible to ignore. 

“Did Jakob give you an earful about your clothes?” he asked, tilting his head in a gentle incline. 

“What? No. I don’t care much about what he says over how I dress.” Dwyer’s tone was a little combative, but he bit back his words; the prince could tell. “His style is ridiculous, anyway.”

“Then why are you wearing one of his vests?”

A pause settled heavily between the two men whilst the other considered his answer carefully. His face contorted between several emotions of burden, contemplation, and conflict as a thumb and forefinger plucked at the checkered hems and silver buckles.

“...I shouldn’t be wearing this.” It was all he finally managed to dreadfully choke out, groaning out a sigh and slumping over against his staff further than usual. “If he sees me, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Is there something wrong with how you normally dress?” Corrin continued to interrogate, subconsciously reaching for his daily wear as if this conversation spurred him to internally debate his own repetitive attire… sparking a terrible thought that everyone else - save Forrest - had been wearing the same things over, and over, and over. “I was under the impression you liked what you wore, which is why you wore it so often. If you don’t like it, maybe you could get into wearing other clothes… just not your father’s.”

“No, nothing’s wrong… particularly. Or, at least, I don’t think there is.” Dwyer said, loosening the cravat about his neck and picking off the pin that held it in place. “Yesterday, I felt a little constricted. I thought maybe it would be in my best interest to wear something lighter. I’m seeing now how horribly wrong this is, so maybe I should go back to my room and-”

“You can borrow something of mine, at least until you find a new uniform you like better.” Echoing the man’s voiced concerns, Corrin already began waltzing to his armoire to help address the situation at hand. Hands sorted through neatly ironed and pressed dress shirts and slacks, hoping to find something suited to Dwyer’s tastes.

_Noooo, no, no. He can’t wear his clothes. That’s too much._

“I’m fine, really.” replied the troubadour, inching his way closer to the door with one hand desperately pawing at the air behind him to find the knob. _Damn it, where was that thing? It was just three feet from the shelf, wasn’t it?_ “I’ll find something from my own closet. Thank you.”

But Corrin wouldn’t have it. Sporting a slight smirk and a quirking a brow, his lord took a step back from his wardrobe - ivory-colored shirt in hand - and gestured the free hand towards the rest of the available attire to pick from.

“You’d honestly chance Jakob seeing you in his clothes?” 

_...Alright, maybe once._

\-------------

Clothes piled up on the bed. Every so often, another would be cast off and laid out on the hills of attire. What started out as a simple ‘here, try this’ became a game of finding something that looked and felt just right, and definitely was taking longer than what it would have if a certain prince just let things go and allowed Dwyer to dress himself. No, instead they had to rummage through heaps of clothes, and it turned out his taste regarding state of garb proved to be even more fastidious than he let on. The pants were easy, but gods forbid the shirt would be, too.

Too bright, too tight, too short, too heavy; no wonder Forrest has yet to influence his style. The pickiness, however, was still endearing, as it reflected the attention to slight details found in his work… or maybe that was reading into it too much, and this was just him being finicky.

“This one has to be it.” said Corrin for the twelfth shirt in a row, holding the shoulders of a soft, club-collared button down to Dwyer’s, leaning his head back to get a better scope of how he’d look. Plain, powder blue fabric looked pretty nice on him, he’d have to admit.

“Let’s hope. I’d rather head back to my room than make more work for me later...” Worn, reluctant eyes scanned over what he had on, groaning softly under his breath. “Let’s get this over with...”

Button one, button two, button three… Each time Dwyer undressed, Corrin was sure to look away. The curiosity ate at him about how he looked under all those layers of clothes, unaltered by the taut strings of a shaping garment, but he wouldn’t dare step on any toes and make his friend uncomfortable. Cloth rustled, the sound of palms smoothing out creases mingling with a sigh. Was he done? Could he look already? An appraising hum would indicate so.

Turning, the dragonewt’s eyes sparked with admiration. His shirts had always been too loose or never sat right on his leaner body, but it seemed that Dwyer filled his clothes better than he could. Even as the young man turned and shifted - admiring himself in the nearby mirror, taking pride in his newfound appearance - the garment showed no signs of an ill fit.

“Hey, alright! It works!” Princely hands reached to help tuck the shirttail into the belted slacks. Subconsciously, he made the decision to not think much on the swell of the obliques his touch deciphered between adjustments in fabric. “What do you think? Are you happier with this?”

A pause of consideration loomed as Dwyer turned around to face his host, eyes flickering up to gaze at Corrin from beneath his bangs and retreated the stare back down to his shirt. Lips pursed into a fine line, as once again he felt up the front of the cloth until his mouth curved into a little smile.

“Actually… it’s not bad.” His reply’s tone sang just a bit, genuinely pleased with the positive turn of events.

“Better than your father’s clothing?”

“Spare me the reminder I wore that ridiculous thing.” 

“Aha… right, sorry.”

Though the ordeal of finding clothes for the choosy butler decidedly reached a successful conclusion, one final hurdle loomed ominously in the way of going their separate ways and tending to the day’s duties. As they stood in front of the discarded remnants scattered across mountainous piles on the bed, they exchanged glances - Dwyer’s accusatory, and Corrin’s excessively apologetic - and set to working together to diminish this workload. For the first time, not one initial objection to the prince’s effort was made.

“You know, if you ever want to borrow something, I wouldn’t mind.” Corrin piped up, setting aside something he could wear later after his chores were done; one less coordinate that needed to be folded. “You can even keep the shirt you’re wearing if you’d like. Leo used to make fun of me for it being too loose, so I haven’t worn it in years.”

“As much as I’d love to, I think people would be a little suspicious of me wearing your clothes.” Dismissal strong in his tone, Dwyer didn’t even dare offer a cursory peek to his side as he spoke knowing that he couldn’t handle to see his lord upset at his refusal. “I do appreciate the thought, though. This shirt is enough.”

“What if I said they were gifts?”

“Others - your siblings and my father come to mind - would know it was yours first. They'd have questions, and father would sooner complain that I accepted it at all.”

“It wouldn’t really matter once it’s yours, but fair enough.” A pair of pants folded and packed away later, Corrin continued, “I do think that shirt would still look nice with your mantlet. You’d look handsome wearing both.”

In a flustered fit, the gloomy attendant suddenly started to shoo his laughing liege away from the remaining clothes, urging him to get dressed and let him deal with the rest. ‘You have work to do’s and ‘this is my job’s buzzed from his mouth, but an unmistakable blush flushed upon his cheeks. Even if it was borne out of embarrassment of such a statement, it was precious, and the sight would be ingrained in Corrin’s mind.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset, can I make it up to you?” asked the charmed magnate, hurriedly clasping his armor in place.

“Yes. We should have tea again today.”

“You got it.”


	3. Tangling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're going to stop this war, right?"
> 
> "Of course we are."

“I’m sorry…”

He should have been faster, more diligent. He should have noticed that an enemy was creeping closer in his companion’s blind spot. As a partnered pair - as friends, close as they were - the both of them should have been watching each other’s backs, and he had failed.

Thankful as he was that Dwyer wasn’t wounded worse or killed, Corrin mentally bludgeoned himself for letting this happen. For having to watch as the felled troubadour rested weakly in this hospital cot, chest rising and falling slowly in shuddered breaths.

“Your own injuries have yet to heal, Lord Corrin; you should be in your own bed.” Jakob had been tending to his needs since the battle ended, now becoming a little impatient by how his son was keeping the prince from proper rest with worry. Offering a cup of chamomile tea was the best he could do to at least quell the fretting. “He will be fine, I assure you. Flora has been watching over him since you both returned to the castle, and I personally won’t allow this sloth-addled boy be your burden.”

“But _I’m_ better off than _he_ is, and it’s _my_ fault for not paying enough attention- ah, thank you.” Taking the teacup, Corrin swirled the drink around the curved vessel before bringing it to his lips for a sip. They should be sharing this together, like they had for countless weeks now. _This isn’t how it should be, how tea should taste._ “I’m going to stay here until he wakes up.”

“No son of mine will die so simply, my lord. No son of Nyx’s either, while we’re discussing the topic.”

“Believe me when I say I know that for a fact, but that’s not the point of why I’m here.”  
  
“Is there a point to keeping yourself from healing thoroughly?”

“We’ve come so far together in recent days. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I left him to lick his own wounds now.”

What followed was a grunt hinted with a mixture of understanding and frustration, but Jakob would never deny his lord’s compassion was a much needed quality in this army’s leader. Sometimes that compassion was too generous, and would let villains deserving of punishment go, however more often than not it was well placed and well meaning. It gave his subordinates the necessary humanity to lean and rely on in times of struggle. A bastion of strength and warmth.

Resting the half-full carafe of tea on the table beside his bed, the stern father looked at his child one last time and gave Corrin the rare sight of a gentle pat to the dark locks covering Dwyer’s sweat-slicked forehead. His son may declare his parent to be unusually cruel and harsh, but the prince knew better. He got to see a side of Jakob that he would never admit to: beneath the competitive spirit of his old man was the concern of a father who wanted nothing but the best for and from him, and to be admired by him. He would never want Dwyer to face the struggle he endured growing up in the Northern Fortress, nor know the fear of imminent failure and expulsion from service.

When he finally left - not wanting to argue with the obstinate liege’s refusal to go back to bed - all that remained was quiet and the lingering guilt.

What was there to do? Corrin thumbed through books he brought to pass the time and some maps to analyze for future battles, but each time Dwyer shifted in his sheets, he couldn’t help but jolt upright in hopes he was waking up. Every false alarm left him more and more disheartened. Nothing could distract him. Nothing could _console_ him. This was _his fault_.

The remorse was going to swallow him up. His fingers drummed impatiently.

“Ugh, will you just wake up already?” the manakete groaned in frustration when he heard a sigh, patting his hand down on a page about the evolution of equestrian tactics.

“...Sorry, didn’t know I was out for so long…”

Looking up, Corrin finally met his gaze with the sleepy, baggy eyes of his groggy friend, who wriggled his way upright with agonizing moans. Bolting to his side, the prince urged Dwyer to lay flat again, yet was met with protest.

“I’m fine, I promise-”  
  
“Don’t say that when you _sound like death_.” Emphasis emboldened the last word, its weight pronounced by how his hands pressed at the bed-ridden’s shoulders just firm enough to have them hit the plush pillows. “You’ve been asleep for hours, you shouldn’t sit up so fast.”

“...What about you? You’re hurt too, aren’t you?” A leatherclad hand pointed to the bandages around Corrin’s shoulder, “You’ve been waiting for me to get up for a while now, I can tell. You look like when father wakes you up ten minutes earlier than usual.”

“So do you.”

“Not sure if you’re aware of this ‘Dwyer Fun Fact’, but I’m _always_ tired.”

Relief washed over them both as they shared the first laugh they’ve had all day.

“I’m glad you’re alright enough to make quips.” Corrin softly spoke, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Do you need anything? Jakob left us some tea, and you could use some rehydrating.”

“Normally I wouldn’t bother with his drink, but… I suppose you’re right.” A half-hearted gaze glanced at the coffee pot by the bedside, a slight grimace speaking his distaste in lieu of his voice. Upon being handed a cup, however, his eyes widened just a little more than usual. “...Huh, he remembered to warm the dishware…”

“He’s just as capable of learning from you as you are from him, you know. It’s admitting it that’s the hard part.”

In silence, the two men drank a cup of tea, digesting their words and the earlier fight. A moment of comforted quiet was much needed, and when their cups ran dry, their eyes met again and they remembered to relish in each other’s well-being; that who knew if they’d walk away from the next battle as lucky as they were today. Even still, the troubadour couldn’t manage a relieved expression.

“...We’re going to stop this war, right?” Dwyer quietly mused, not exactly speaking to Corrin, but not quite speaking to himself. His words were as smoke- they were light and ethereal. They dissipated into the air of the room, and while they could no longer be heard, they lingered on in the faint smell of chamomile surrounding them.

“Of course we are. This is what we’re striving for.” The prince tried to soothe his companion with optimistic words to no avail. “...Why? What’s on your mind?”

“It’s that… I was born into this war… Grew up only knowing this war.” A hand rose, swatting frustrated paths in the empty space around him. “I was raised in the Deeprealms because Mother and Father didn’t want me to get hurt from the war. Then the war came to me when Father visited, and I joined the army from that day on.  My whole life has been determined by the fighting, and if I’m completely honest, I’d like to know what actual peace is like. I’m sure the others my age feel the same.”

“I… I know I do.” Corrin responded, looking down at his lap solemnly. When his gaze flickered back up, Dwyer was giving him the firmest, most judgmental stare he’d seen him give. “I-... What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you even ‘my age’?”

“E-Excuse me? Of course I am! You may have been born only a while ago, but time flies in those deeprealms. You’re as old as me now, I-”

“But you knew Father since he was little.”

“That’s not the point; those dimensional pockets worked their magic, and now time be damned, you and I are close in years.” With a grunt, Corrin rubbed his temples in complete disbelief of the conversation they were having. _This feels like an argument Elise would squabble over._ “But Dwyer, think about this... The war has been going on since _I_ was little, and I existed in normal time and space. I didn’t have a deeprealm to go to, just like many other children, so please believe me when I say I do understand, and I really feel like that was best for you. That Jakob and Nyx made the best choice for you to be raised there, because who knows what would’ve happened if they didn’t.”

As frustrating as it was to hear, he wasn’t wrong. Biting back a childish retort - _feeling like his lord believed he couldn’t handle the tides of war;_ _it was far beneath him to act petulant like this_ \- he let loose a sigh and nodded slightly.

“...We probably wouldn’t have become as good of friends.” Dwyer muttered, staring into his interlocked hands at rest in his lap. “You would have been so much older by the time I was this age, and nothing would have been the same. You probably wouldn’t have needed me.”

“I think you’re wrong.”  
  
“Oh, yeah?” For the first time, he challenged the word of his lord. As if he had put his opponent into checkmate, Corrin smiled.  
  
“I feel like if we were in another world where that happened, I would still have gravitated to you. It may be different in that world - the way we would interact and have needed each other - but if given the chance to meet you, I feel like I would naturally find my way towards you no matter what time and place we were in.”

The answer he gained was beyond the realm of ‘unexpected’. Sure, he may have seen something along these lines coming, but never so eloquently put. _Would it really have been that simple?_

And the servant’s eyes grew wide with jaw slightly agape; he tried to formulate the words he wanted so badly to say. _What were they?_ _Was there anything that could possibly be said in response?_ If fortunate enough, maybe everything could be conveyed in body language alone, and he wouldn’t have to fret. His voice would fail him yet.

_Would it actually happen?_

Pursing his mouth together and thickly swallowing air down his dry throat, Dwyer looked back down to his hands and hummed softly his blank thoughts. He scoured the lines of his palms for something, _anything_ , the same way his mother would when she would find herself introspective.

“I’ll always be thankful that you and I met here like this, then.” he began after his lengthy consideration. As if knowing that his master had his sights set on him still - patiently waiting for him to say more - he cocked his head in a slight angle to briefly lock their gaze. The grin he reunited with inspired him to match it. “I think you’ve worried enough for one day, and I absolutely need more sleep. My pillow beckons.”

“Yeah, and I think Jakob would like it if I slept, too.”  Corrin chuckled nervously, rubbing a hand at the back of his head as he pondered just exactly what the overly-devotional guardian would do if he continued to worry himself into a stupor.

“Best not to let his hairline recede further.”

“Oh, come on now, he’s only a little older than me!”

Bidding their goodbyes with laughter and well wishes, the friends separated; Corrin took his leave for his own chambers, surely to be met with plenty of records to read over of today’s mission debriefing. Dwyer slumped back to the mattress with fistfulls of blankets tugging themselves over his head. He dreamt a little easier this time.

_Let’s train together, so nothing like this happens ever again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ashamedly didn't beta this one. instead, wrote this as stream of consciousness.


End file.
